adventure, romance and mystery through the eyes of a middle-aged woman

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Tag Archives: middleaged single life

The door opens into an almost empty room. Wednesday night at the Rec Room (remember this spot from The Cougar Pack?), and only a few drinkers are seated under the fluorescent light of the bar. The dance floor is empty; truly empty with bare board walls, scratched and dented tables pulled together in the center of the room and a lonely deejay lost behind his equipment, spinning his discs out into the void.

We head toward the deejay, and my companion asks, “Do you have any swing music?”

“I don’t like him, either, but if it gets us danceable music, who cares if it’s that silly old Jailhouse Rock.”

“I’ll look,” says the master of the music, while he puts on a tune by The Byrds.

It’s a cheek-to-cheek number, so I head for a table and pull out a chair. After all, the rule with this companion is that we never touch each other (You met him in Toying). He’s married, so this is the deal. No swaying slowly to the music, no cheeks or anything else pressed together. Not with this guy. Not about to happen.

On a perfect Sunday afternoon in June I bike across the city to the park. Life is good. The world is full of happy people holding hands, pushing kids in strollers, soaking themselves in the spray from fountains, amusing themselves with the fanciful art.

I have everything to make me content; a comfortable bench to sprawl on, a cold lemonade to sip and popcorn to munch.

My bubble of contentment bursts when I spot him striding across the plaza, headed right in my direction. Chet, the guy I broke up with months before (Breaking Up is Hard to Do). Chet, holding hands with a woman, both of them beaming.